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“Tell that to my stomach,” Cat retorted, reaching the wall and turning to pace again. “It’s got butterflies the size of chickens in there and they’re

complaining about the accommodations.”

Laughing softly, Dylan stood. Approaching Cat, she gathered her in for a close, warm hug. “It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

Cat burrowed in close, enjoying the scent of Dylan, which was now enhanced by sweet-smelling coconut oil. “Mmm.”

Chuckling, Dylan pressed a kiss to the crown of Cat’s head, then released her, smiling down at the younger woman, eyes soft and clear.

Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sounds of their opponents approaching. One was immediately recognizable as Lany Simmons, a tall, rather

stocky pro golfer who was known for out hitting the men from their own tees. Her partner was a shorter, spry Olympic miler, Mary Talb. Dylan and Cat

nodded to the women, who nodded back in turn and exited the tunnel into the sunshine beyond.

“Shall we?” Dylan asked.

“Let’s get this over with,” Cat grumbled.

The PA speaker came to life, announcing their names. Both women slipped sunglasses over their eyes and stepped into the warm, sunny day.

The crowd was immense, and growing. There wasn’t an inch left in the stands. Fans stood along the sides and back, cheering wildly as they entered the

court. Dylan’s name was chanted with such ecstatic force that Cat feared for a moment that a riot was about to erupt.

She looked around in awe, eyes wide, and realized, for the first time, just a little of what it was like to be Dylan Lambert.

“Dear God,” she whispered, holding a hand to the pulse hammering in her throat. She found herself fighting down a sudden, almost overwhelming and

totally unexpected attack of claustrophobia as the crowd seemed to grow and swell before her wide, staring eyes. Voices and faces merged into one

writhing and almost malevolent entity, swelling toward her as if intent on ripping out her very heart and displaying it on a trophy stand on their collective

mantle.

A warm hand brushing lightly against her shoulder grounded her slightly, and she looked up, the extent of her anguish mirrored in the lenses of Dylan’s

sunglasses.

“How in the world do you handle this?” she croaked, voice as dry as the sand beneath her feet.

Dylan looked up, sparing the immense crowd a casual glance, which further sparked their mania, before looking back to Cat. A broad shoulder lifted briefly

in a casual shrug. “Just something you get used to, I suppose.”

“I’d never get used to this,” Cat said, stopping an internal shiver from becoming an external one. “Never in a million years.”

The corner of Dylan’s mouth quirked. “Oh, you will. It won’t be long before it’s your name they’re shouting like this.”

“Not like this,” Cat replied with conviction. “Never like this.”

Dylan relaxed her lips into a full smile. “We’ll see.” She touched Cat’s shoulder again, long fingers surreptitiously stroking the soft flesh there. “C’mon.

They can’t start without us.”

Cat forced her legs to move to the small seating area that was reserved for them. The screaming crowd was still much too close to the court for her tastes,

but a long line of beefy security guards seemed intent on keeping the writhing mass away from the players.

Relaxing a bit, she smoothed the tuck of her tight, sweat-wick shirt into her black and purple running shorts and squatted down to stretch her still tense

muscles, her back to the crowd.

Her routine was interrupted by an almost sexual moan from the crowd behind her. Turning her head, she froze, and only barely saved herself from an

ignominious fall to her backside as her eyes, thankfully hidden behind the dark glasses, widened to the size of saucers.

Dylan had just stripped away her black windbreaker sweats to reveal the outfit of a professional beach volleyball player. Black microshorts, tiny enough to

pass for a thong, covered her pelvis and the very tops of her ropy, muscled thighs. Above, she wore a snug sports-bra type top, ending just below her

breasts and displaying the cut, banded and rippling muscles of her abdomen, shoulders and arms, accentuated by her deep, almost black tan.

Whatever moisture had managed to return to Cat’s mouth was gone in that instant, as she felt a wave of desire, far eclipsing anything she had ever known,

pass over her, coating her in its liquid heat.

Dylan flashed her a grin, and Cat, though she never knew exactly how, managed to pull herself upright on legs filled with pudding. As Dylan passed close

by, Cat fixed her with a look. “You expect me to actually play now?”

Dylan’s grin broadened.

“Volleyball, I mean.”

Dylan chuckled. “C’mon, Shortchange. Let’s show em what we’ve got.”

“I think you’re showing them plenty already,” Cat replied, not surprised at all to hear the note of jealousy threading its way up through her vocal cords. She

could literally feel the eyes of the crowd crawling over her partner. Shaking her head to break the spell, she resolutely trailed after Dylan. “Well,” she